The Phantom of the Opera
by The Anonymous Writer Strikes
Summary: The newest, most realistic version the book by Gaston Leroux. The tale of the phantom. I have made edits to the story, granted. Some of which are: Erik wasn't born with a birth defect, yes, I do know that the orginal story says he was but I changed it.
1. The Beginning

The air was quite humid that day. The heavens seemed to give off an ominous feeling, as if the gods were having battle. Perhaps it was because they were indoors, but the Opera Chanleaur did not take notice. In fact, they could be heard from the streets. At least a half-mile away, the policemen discussed the innovative au courant opera, "Carmen" that was to be played at ten o'clock that very evening.

"Seems that it should be a good crowd, with all the business at the alehouses going about." Muttered a disgruntled policeman, in his mid-forties. He had an ample stomach, and a rather substantial gray mustache. The man was on top of a horse, perhaps English Hunter or Thoroughbred by the appearance of its stature. "I'd hate to see the day when we had to work at the opera house."

The other, was a tall, weedy man in his twenties replied, "Aye, the owners run that place like the Constable. M'lady says she would fancy some tickets, but I don't have the heart telling her we can't afford them..." His accent was clearly that of lower rank, and the elder scoffed at his accent. The younger continued on for quite a bit, and it was half past nine when the elder realized the time.

"I've heard worse. They bribe the fire marshal because they want a full house. Granted, they need the money for the place is in disrepair." The man grunted as he dismounted his horse. "I need to feed old Liberty, good night, Tom." Then 'Tom' nodded, and walked on into the alehouse as the other walked in the direction of the opera, which was south, on Winterburry Street. A loud chorus could be heard, and the man comforted his horse from being spooked. "Now, now girl. We're almost home."

At that moment, however, the horse started neighing uncontrollably. Liberty was bucking and seemed half mad. The policeman attempted to calm the horse, but all was for naught because the horse broke free and galloped towards the opposite direction. The policeman uttered several crude words, when a bloodcurdling scream erupted from the opera house.

"Help, help!" Screams continued, "FIRE!" The policeman was near trampled by a large, frantic crowd. The group consisted of actors, dancers, and many a member of the musical ensemble. They looked comical, running like mad with their costumes and finery on, the band especially. The man didn't know whether to laugh or call for help. He decided help was safest, and grabbed his whistled and blew, hard. By then he could see columns of dark smoke against an even darker sky. He could smell three things: fear, blood, and fire.

Tom arrived five minutes later, riding Liberty. "What's this?" He asked, staring at the fire now eating away at the ceiling. Liberty was foaming at her bit, and threatened to buck at any moment.


	2. The Fire

"Damn you boy, get help!" barked the policeman, who was trying to find someone to question. The owner, León Chanleaur finally appeared. León was younger than most of great wealth, he was in his early thirties, quite handsome, if not a little crazy. Or so the rumors stated, that León was foolhardy and an alcoholic.

"Bonjour Monsieur, it seems that my opera house is burning." León stated, lazily. He was obviously the worse for drink. He swaggered over to Tom, "My opera is ruined now, ruined!" The loss was great, surely, but it seemed as if all the people had been evacuated. Why bother when the insurance would cover it? Secretly,the officerthought; _Let it burn, it's a pile of rubbish anyway._

"It would seem only the theatre is ruined, now Mr. Chanleaur please relay to me what occurred, while Tom gets the fire truck." Tom nodded and rode off in a hurry. León sighed and sat down in the street, clearly drunk beyond belief.

"We were practicing, always practicing, you know." León stopped himself to vomit on a nearby bush. "Erik was singing with Gabrielle, she plays Carmen. Someone overhead was smoking his pipe, opium, I believe-from the smell of it." He added hurridly after areprochful look from the officer."He threw it on the scenery, which is really wood, but behind it lucky enough was paille-straw, in English. It blew right up an-"

The fire truck showed up, pulled by a team of six horses. The firemen instantaneously ran into the flames, while others looked for the nearest water source. After several tense moments, two firemen came out, dragging a severely burned man, who was nearly dead. Monsieur Chanleaur looked about to faint. "My leading man! No-no! That's Erik-my show is ruined."

The officer ran over to this Erik, who seemed to be in great pain. But as he walked ever closer to Erik, he shuddered at the appearance of his face. Half of his body was badly, if not fatally, burned. Blood and tissue were clearly visible, but it was his face that haunted the officer. When Erik turned to the officer, moaning "W-w-water." The officer saw his face-his grusome face.

The fireman dragged out a stretcher from the wagon, muttering things like "He needs to go to the hospital" or "He'll never look the same." The officer ardently agreed with the first, and for the latter, he was repulsed that he, too, admitted it was truthful. It 'twas truly a shame, for the man was quite handsome, if you could overlook his bloodied body. The fireman approached Erik cautiously, as if wondering he'd attack any moment. The fire captain noticed, an old scarred man with a strong jaw, and shouted "Get on with it, men!"

After the fireman loaded Erik, the captain and two man plungled into the flames. The fire wagon's driver whistled, and with a crack of the whip, Erik sped off to the hospital. The officer looked on as the captain andtwo men ran out of the operahouse, panting heavily.

"What is it?" The officerasked, warily. "Another body? A-"

"No, no." The captain swallowed, "We-we investigated the scence and concluded, that the fire was set off by an arsonist." He mumbled something inaudible and looked grimly off in the direction of the hospital.

"An aronist? This is a serious accusation. Whom do you belive to have started this catastrophe?" The officer asked, taking out a notepad and jottingdown the scene around him.

"I suppose it could've been anyone, but I can assure you, asMr. Chanleaur will certainly have a considerable amount of insurance benefits from this event, he will be the prime suspect." The captain replied, frowning at the now passed out Chanleaur on a bench nearby.

"I would assume just so. As for the boy-this Erik, do you believe he will recover?" Tom interrupted, speaking excitedly.

"I doubt if he lives through the next week It will take an angel to do it." The captain answered, without sympathy for he had obviously beenaccustomed to death. The officer and Tom nodded their thanks, and walked away. Each man lost in his own troublesome thoughts.


	3. The Hospital Visit: Part I

It was hospital visiting day, and St. Charles was teeming with life. Visitors were asked to sign-in at the front desk, where an already occupied secretary was busying herself with a rather unsatisfied client, who was complaining about bed pillows and blanket thickness. The conversation went something along the lines of:

"I will be sure to take note and tell the faculty that, sir-"The secretary assured, eyeing the clock in the corner, possibly to see when her shift was done.

"You had better, honestly. I thought St. Charles was the best hospital in the whole of London, nay, England! The quantity is impressive, no doubt. The quality, however, is key to success in these places. I have inspected my room incredibly thoroughly and have thus far to find a suitable pillow in the whole of this place. I am allergic to down!" The selfish patient complained.

"Yes yes, sir. I am sad to say that I am only the visitor's secretary, and heartily suggest you take your dissatisfaction to another area." The secretary rebuffed, looking grimmer by the moment. The patient replied with a choking noise, and walked away with his chest held high, but his nightgown not so. The secretary sighed and continued on, checking files, et cetera.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle. I was looking for ze singer, Erik-"Said a rather anxious young man, with bloodshot eyes, as if he was crying moments earlier. The secretary nodded somberly, sympathetic. She pointed to the left hallway.

"He is in the burn victims unit, which is room 113. Sign your name here please." She added, "And your business and what is your relation to the er-patient." León nodded, and signed with quite a flourish.

León Chanleaur, ex-opera owner, employee.

The secretary nodded in gratitude, and added hastily "He is recovering well, but you might be warned that-"but it was too late, the pompous man had already hurried down the hall. The secretary sighed, and frowned. "He'll be in for a revelation." She muttered to herself.

Meanwhile, the ex-opera owner had been practically running down the hallway. When he finally did reach room 113, he barged in without knocking. It was a bad idea, for doctors were unwrapping Erik's bandages. León nearly fainted, being so prudish.

"What are you doing here?" A doctor barked, and Erik turned his face toward him, and lo! It was certainly a sight to behold, if not gruesome and ghastly than terrible and frightening. Half of Erik's tissue was exposed, and the scabs that had perhaps dried before were bleeding again. Blood was everywhere and anywhere, and León vomited then and there.

Rather embarrassed, he added "I am," he frowned and continued "I was the Opera Chanleaur owner." The doctor nodded.

"León! How is the opera house? I knew insurance would have problems but I managed to take the records before the house fell and I've some innovations on the fresh designs and-"Erik gushed his heart out. _He obviously hasn't seen a mirror lately,_ León thought. León backed away towards the door, looking uncomfortable.

"Doctors? I would like it if ze would 'ave a word. Now s'il vous plaît! It ez very important business matter."


End file.
